I’ve done some crazy shit in my life.

I spent much of my late teen years up to no good, drinking, smoking pot, partying, dating asshats, and job hopping like a frog on speed. Nothing I ever did landed me in jail, (could have) but let’s just say that I gave my mom some grey hairs.

Like that time my mom called me at some dudes house, calmly asking for me when he answered the telephone. Her detective work was impressive, I’ll give her that. I can only hope that I could hunt down my own child with such legendary determination.

I had absolutely no qualms about staying out all night, driving around in my blue 87′ Dodge Omni, aka The Blueberry. I couldn’t tell you how many times I ignorantly drove home drunk, ending up in my driveway and having no idea how I made it there in one piece. Not my proudest moments.

I should probably thank my guardian angel.


I was spontaneous. I did things on the fly, without hemming and hawing about safety precautions. I was pretty much game for anything, even asking random people to buy us alcohol at the convenience store.

Helpful Hint: Ask old guys, they rarely turn down a free can of malt liquor.

It feels like a lifetime ago, those crazy days of debauchery. I think back on it now and smile wistfully at my old self, that fearless young adult who did some really stupid shit.

Fun shit, might I add.

I have somehow turned into the worlds biggest fucking fuddy dud.

Like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.

I suppose the day that they handed me my daughter was a game changer. No longer was I just living for myself. It calmed me down and made me a responsible adult.

No, just kidding. I love being an adult. Really.

Illness came and knocketh out the last shreds of my former good timing self.

Also age and extreme lethargy. I’m tired. Just plain tuckered out. I have no energy to go to the grocery store let alone partake in a night of freeform frolicking. If I do go somewhere, I don’t last very long. A couple of hours and I want to blow that pop stand.

Pop, not soda.

It’s too loud, too chaotic, too naughty, too risky, too exciting, and too much like work. (I stole that one from my kid.)

My idea of a good time is going to my friend’s house for a fire and smoking a nug or two. Nice and laid back, very chill. Maybe a weenie and a totally sugar-free root beer float if I’m feeling froggy.

So, how about you? Are you fud-like?